


A Matter of Life and Death

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Chains, Choices, Fate & Destiny, Fluff and Angst, Geralt is a very tired Grim Reaper, Grim Reapers, Humor, Immortality, Imprisonment, Jaskier is an innocent angel literally and needs to learn about the world, M/M, One Shot Collection, Plague, Problems, Roach is a very good Girl and deals with her masters shit, Slice of Life, Souls, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Most Angels had wonderful jobs on earth, like making the seasons change, caring for all the lovely creations and helping them evolve and grow according to the grand plan. Some were guardians, some teachers and others were muses. Some were shepherds and others were soldiers. Some were scribes and others were storytellers. Everyone had a job and each job was unique as was the individual carrying them out.Jaskier had passion but his talents hadn't been tailored towards the beloved creations that graced the earth. He had so much love that his heart swelled, but he could not paint the landscapes and all their vivid beauty. His fingers itched to etch the tales of infinite lives into stone, to give them the most wonderful story to be remembered by and to eventually live when their souls are born into this vast and wonderful existence.Instead of all those wondrous positions he could have had, Jaskier found himself sheathed in the mortal disguise of a humble bard strumming the chords of his lute to the eager ears of the downtrodden seeking a moment's respite in familiar songs. Which was fine, perfectly and serenely so. Only it wasn't. Not entirely.--------Angel Jaskier's adventures with Reaper Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormklinge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormklinge/gifts).



> This was a request by a friend after a discord conversation in the Witcher discord and honestly, the idea appealed to me so much that I wrote it all in one go. This will be a series of one shots that are an overall interconnected story.

Jaskier probably should have heeded the warnings. 

The grand scheme was providing him ample time to reconsider his choices in these fragile endeavors and trifling plights. He should have thought it over more, maybe questioned the path he chose a little more thoughtfully. Brandished a few more feeble attempts at squirming free of the tasks placed upon his shoulders. But instead, he relished in their assignment and eagerly accepted every stipulation involved.

His brethren stared after him as if he had jovially exclaimed the most lecherous and unholy of plans to the world. His pleasant smile had been met with wary glances but Jaskier had ignored them, rather blatantly. He refused to let the debbie downers ruin his first official assignment!

Most Angels had wonderful jobs on earth, like making the seasons change, caring for all the lovely creations and helping them evolve and grow according to the grand plan. Some were guardians, some teachers and others were muses. Some were shepherds and others were soldiers. Some were scribes and others were storytellers. Everyone had a job and each job was unique as was the individual carrying them out. 

Jaskier had passion but his talents hadn't been tailored towards the beloved creations that graced the earth. He had so much love that his heart swelled, but he could not paint the landscapes and all their vivid beauty. His fingers itched to etch the tales of infinite lives into stone, to give them the most wonderful story to be remembered by and to eventually live when their souls are born into this vast and wonderful existence.

Instead of all those wondrous positions he _could_ have had, Jaskier found himself sheathed in the mortal disguise of a humble bard strumming the chords of his lute to the eager ears of the downtrodden seeking a moment's respite in familiar songs. Which was fine, perfectly and serenely so. Only it wasn't. Not entirely. Now he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he hadn't anticipated that the companion on this little quest would be so _dead._

That wasn't an understatement.

Jaskier smiled politely at the crowd as they cheered at the end of his song and gave a gentle bow of gratitude before making his way to the dark dreary little corner that his associate had lingered. Those eerie inhuman golden eyes sliced through the shadows and pierced through the angel's soul. Or so it felt. The first time that gaze met Jaskier's pale blue hues, he felt an icy shiver grip his heart and constrict to near suffocation. Had he truly been mortal, he probably would have died upon the spot. But Jaskier had the upper hand of being heaven sent and so he learned to endure the unearthly calm that settled around them. The cold nip of the grave that rolled off of Geralt's shoulders like an ominous cloak that clung to his body, disturbed only by the shine of liquid moonlight that cascaded over his shoulders and was neatly gathered in a ponytail.

Jaskier accepted an ale from the waitress though he didn't dare take a drink from its contents. His eyes fixed solely on his companion as the woman quickly averted her gaze and scurried away like a frightened animal, eager to leave Geralt's presence. It was a natural response, Jaskier had come to realize, in all living creatures. The innate ability to _sense_ Death itself when it was near.

Geralt had no qualms about consumption of alcohol as he took a hearty gulp and adjusted his gaze to search the room with that suspicious glint. Jaskier drummed his fingers anxiously against his tankard and watched as the man settled back in resignation, a gentle impulse that the angel had quickly picked up to mean nobody was due to pass anytime soon. At least not within the tavern. But someone in this town was running out of time, which was the only reason they were even here in the first place.

"So, any thoughts on where to find this lost soul?" Jaskier's voice was low, mindful of the volume with so many folks crowding the room. They chattered rather lively for so early in the evening but it wouldn't take much for an inopportune silence to get them overheard.

He was met with a mild grunt of indifference. Jaskier sighed, pushing his tankard towards Geralt as the Reaper finished his own drink and swapped cups with his companion.

Jaskier wondered briefly if all Reapers were this way or if he had ended up with a defective one. That would certainly be his luck for being so fresh to the force. He cupped his chin and rested against his palm, one elbow propped lazily upon the table as he watched the Reaper finish the second tankard with a sparing glance around. His eyes narrowed on a passing shadow near the entrance, the briefest hints of conversation stirred as patrons inside the tavern chatted up their neighbors in passing just outside the doors.

Geralt set the empty cup on the table, dropped a few coins for the troubles beside them and started to follow his target. It left Jaskier scrambling to gather his lute into his arms and trailed after him. Each dainty step fell into practice behind Geralt's longer gliding strides. His attention fixed on a young man stalking through the streets with a parcel tucked under one arm. 

Jaskier cocked his head to the side, a curious look as he inspected the haste in the young man's steps. The sweat dappling his brow and soaking into his tunic. His knees were muddy and his hair bounced in damp curls in his face. He stumbled as he turned a street corner, his legs giving out beneath him like two spindly twigs trying to hold up a tremendous weight. He hit the ground with a loud grunt and gasped, an audible wheezing rattled in his lungs.

All around them, nobody paid mind to the youth that had collapsed. Not as he scrambled to hold tight to the parcel or as he dragged himself through the dirt into the shade of a nearby building. Geralt's shadowy form stalked towards him with purposeful strides, the ethereal cloak unraveled around his figure and flowed like the night sky liquified. A shimmer of energy surrounded him in a soft blue light as the Reaper shed his mortal form and entered a state in which only the dying could see.

The dying, and Jaskier.

Chains hung from the witcher's hip, heavy and strong, glazed over with the icy bite of a cold winter's frost. Two swords were cradled against his back, both of vastly different style. Jaskier had heard of the Reapers before, but only in passing with other Angel's. They say that Death carries two swords, steel for man and beast to cut their tethers to this world and free their souls. And silver for monsters for their tethers are strung through two worlds and far stronger than a mortal man's or animal's.

Jaskier approached the pair and dropped to kneel before the young man as he struggled for air. His mortal form remained, friendly and warm. A gentle smile of concern as the youth reached for his hand, lips forming the syllables for a plea but the air wouldn't fill his lungs to give his voice life. Jaskier graciously accepted the trembling fingers and noted the horror in the boy's eyes. His gaze darted towards Geralt's side, the whites of his eyes on full display as he struggled to escape the Reaper's touch. A pang of guilt wrenched at Jaskier's heart as the palpable fear filled the air, bitter and sour to the senses, like spoiled meat in the sun or a batch of bad grapes that fermented poorly.

Jaskier took a deep breath and caressed a warm hand against the youth's cheek, unraveling the story beneath the skin and listening to the song within the mortal soul. This part was the hardest, he had come to find out. His job was to decide who gets a second chance at life and who is taken by Geralt to the other world. This life had been so short and so many events had gone untouched, accomplishments left unfinished, loves left waiting. The boy was young but his life had so much potential.

"You have a weak heart but you will overcome it with time." Jaskier smiled softly, combing his fingers through the young man's hair as a soft golden light pulsed from his palm. The young man struggled for another breath before it eased out to something steadier and less labored. His body slackened against the earth, the hand in his grip felt heavy but still warm. The young man slipped into a state of sleep, the parcel forgotten at his side.

"He shall live." Jaskier concluded. "His story isn't finished yet."

Geralt grunted, a cold hard noise that the angel wasn't accustomed to quite yet. He sensed displeasure in the other being's tone, which was startling given he barely made a sound. Perhaps it was the shift in how much colder the shadows were rolling off of Geralt's shoulders like a thick unrelenting fog.

Jaskier remained knelt as Geralt rose to his feet, shedding his skin in a way that one might disperse smoke from an overly indulgent campfire, and resumed his mortal form. The depths of the chill faded from Jaskier's skin but it was still there. A lingering whisper of the wintery bite that accompanied the Reaper wherever he went. Jaskier sighed, a discontented sound as the summer sun thawed his limbs from the encounter. It was pleasant but Jaskier had a new problem at hand.

"Could you help me take him to a healer?" The angel requested, a small favor he swears.

Geralt's unnatural golden eyes pierced through him once more, as if in a silent challenge towards the angel. "You chose to prolong his time. You shoulder the consequences yourself." It was a low rumble that resembled the ominous warning of thunder on the horizon. Jaskier winced inwardly and heaved a heavy sigh of defeat. 

"Fair enough." _Nobody said this job would be easy._ He reminded himself bitterly, attempting to lift the youth into his arms. The angle was awkward and the weight was uncomfortably set. Jaskier adjusted the young man so his head leaned against his shoulder and cradled him against his chest. It wasn't that the man was far too heavy, but Jaskier had a hard time measuring his strength and how much grace to put into his actions. He was still a young angel after all and he didn't have plenty to spare at the moment.

"Could you at least carry the parcel, please?" Jaskier borderline begged, ignoring the momentary quip in the back of his mind about how Reapers are already just glorified delivery boys. It was a tempting jab to make but Jaskier knew better than to cut his wings off prematurely.

He was greeted with a grunt that didn't exactly inspire confidence. Rolling his eyes, he started the slow painfully dull walk towards the town healer's hut. Thankfully he didn't have to struggle far when a few lumbermen were walking into town and spotted the youth in Jaskier's embrace. They were quick to offer help to their friend. Jaskier was relieved of the burden but trailed after them eagerly, leaving Geralt and the parcel to catch up.

The angel may have pulled a few strings and invoked a thread of muse inside the elderly healer as he strummed a few strings to her soul. Her weary features smoothed out, exempt from the stresses and concerns eating bitterly at her mind. Her hands worked quickly to make just the right formula for a medicine that would help cure the young man's affliction. All the while, concerned townsfolk waited impatiently outside the hut for news on their beloved's state.

Jaskier felt pleased with himself, of course not in a way that garnered dangerous pride or a swell of toxic confidence. He just thought he deserved a small self-applied pat on the back for making the right choice. His face split into a beaming grin of barely contained giddiness when he slipped out of the hut and found Geralt waiting for him. He was propped up against a nearby tree, far removed from the rest of the people. His signature scowl settled grimly on his face as he crossed his arms and observed the commotion with a grimace. When Jaskier approached, he pushed away from the tree with a hiss of shadows swirling around his body, resuming that ethereal cloak that drifted like a barrier around him.

Jaskier was not dissuaded from this however and all but skipped after him to keep up and close the distance between them. He flashed a grin towards Geralt who promptly ignored it and proceeded towards the nearest inn to stay the night. If the young man did not pull through, then Geralt would override Jaskier's decision to spare him and cut his tether for good.

Luckily for Jaskier, the boy survived the night and the pair had set off on the road again early the next morning, in search of their next charge.


	2. Cheating Death (Part 1)

"I hate mages." Geralt growled lowly into his cup upon discovering the source of his next target. His head tipped as he promptly emptied the tankard to the last drop and set it down a little too loudly. The shadows that accompanied him seemed to darken their little corner to an unsettling shade.

Jaskier cringed, plucking a few strings on his lute to combat the shifting energy, plying a little of his grace into his notes to brighten the lighting of the room, and with it, the mood. If only a little. Dark and oppressive wasn't really his thing though Geralt made it look _good_.

Sort of. 

Or just bitterly miserable. 

Jaskier really needed to figure the Reaper out, he truly was a fascinating creature and so little was actually known about them. Even the eldest of angels couldn't shed much light on them when he asked. Which was only mildly frustrating for the young angel. Just a _little._ He swears.

"Why is that?" Jaskier dared ask, strumming more mundane notes now as the atmosphere stabilized. The cheery tune danced around the room, mingling with the patrons and inspiring their drunken revelry.

"They tend to cheat me." Geralt snarled, a feral rumble that sent ghostly shivers racing down Jaskier's spine. He straightened up in his seat and fidgeted briefly, masking his discomfort by innocently changing position. His fingers plucked at the strings almost nervously but he refused to let it show.

"How so?" The angel was genuinely curious. He was still learning about this whole world and all it had to offer, an endeavor he knew would take lifetimes but Jaskier had all the time in the world for that. _If_ his companion would be so kind as to humour him and the plethora of questions he had. Geralt was his only guide in this world for the time being, or however long he is meant to fill this position and he would be infinitely less annoying when well informed on the situation. Maybe. Though in Jaskier's defense, Geralt appeared to get easily annoyed with existence itself. Which was peculiar considering his job. Or maybe it wasn't. After all, he gets to kill that which annoys him. Which didn't inspire much confidence on Jaskier's part.

Geralt turned that icy stare upon him but the chill no longer bothered Jaskier much anymore. He was becoming rather used to the Reaper's frigid demeanor these days, which was a relief and a delight in and of itself. He just grew a thicker skin to handle the cold so to speak. Though Jaskier wouldn't mind picking up a traveling cloak himself to fend off the residual chill that crept along his skin and prickled like static. That was less about temperature and more about the simple unease it caused him. Death was not a very welcoming aura if he did say so himself.

"They were given a gift when the gates collided. A rare ability that had so much potential and the first thing they chose to do with that gift is to keep me away." Geralt grumbled, turning his keen gaze upon the rest of the tavern patrons who drank and talked and laughed loudly. Obnoxiously so for some.

"They could have done so much for the world but their selfishness was made known when they chose to prolong their lives and scramble for more power. Instead of accepting their own _mortality_." He sneered, lips peeled back into a wolfish snarl, exposing a set of sharp teeth for a brief moment. "They may secure another hundred years or so, but I will come for every last one of them. All they have accomplished for themselves is a painful lonely death."

"I see. Well that is unfortunate for them." Jaskier spoke uneasily after a stretch of awkward silence. The heavy mood returned and he was trying his damndest to maintain an air of optimism. Luckily, as if on cue, the waitress briskly approached, delivering more ale and hot hearty meals to both men. She greeted Jaskier with a warm smile, her lips were pink, resembling the blossoms in the orchard outside of town. He momentarily wondered if they would be just as soft to touch. It was a mild fascination he had with humanity as a whole. He loved all of the creations on earth, and with that love came adoration and unique impulses to better know each and every one of them. Of course he couldn't indulge in mortal bliss, but he wouldn't mind the warm company and a long chat by a fireside as he strums a few chords of his lute and let's himself become enamored with the story ingrained in the soul before him.

There were so many wonderful things about humanity that he had only heard in fleeting conversations with his brethren, but now he could _experience_ it all. Firsthand no less. And he was eager. His gaze followed those warm hazelnut eyes as they sparkled in the light of the tavern. So innocent and beautiful and- _wait!_

He glanced at the cold shoulder the woman gave towards Geralt. The barely concealed grimace as she shifted away from his side of the table and placed the platter of food down so quickly she nearly spilled it. She withdrew her hands hastily, a bolt of fear shattering the luminous hues of her eyes as she abruptly retreated away from their table. Geralt kept his head down, his gaze averted to stare at the wooden dishes set before them. Both meals were identical, both orders the same. Though the Reaper would no doubt drink both ales while Jaskier elected to focus on singing. He only ate enough to sustain his mortal form and the illusion they put on. His interests were more focused on the world around him.

Except at this moment. Jaskier's pale moonlight blue eyes were solely focused on the Reaper as realization dawned on him. The shadows crept over the table as Geralt reached for the hunk of roast pork on his platter and consumed his fill like a starved beast wandering through the woods. His sharp teeth ripping into the tender juicy flesh with wanton abandon for anyone watching. His shoulders hunched up protectively as that same old barrier of cold and darkness wrapped around him like a shield against the world. 

Jaskier couldn't help but stare, a painful twisting sensation pulling in his stomach as he shoved his platter towards the Reaper. Geralt paused only a few seconds, raising a confused brow at the angel.

"I'm still full from breakfast this morning." He admitted, which seemed to be enough to dismiss the fleeting concern the Reaper felt- _did Reapers have feelings? Emotion?_ \- and turn his attention towards the second platter.

Jaskier strummed a few thoughtful chords on his lute and let his mind wander once more, preferably towards far more pleasant topics and not the troubling acknowledgement that surrounded his views on the Reaper and how the world itself regarded his presence. Yes, death wasn't a pleasant experience. It was an end to everything but every story had to reach an end otherwise it loses its purpose. Death was natural, in fact it was the _most natural_ thing about all of life. Every living thing is _living_ because it eventually meets Death. And yet…

His thoughts trailed and he forced his gaze to not linger so long on his companion. Instead, pushing up out of his seat as he proceeded to join the energetic masses that drank and cheered. A few song requests were tossed his way and Jaskier obliged them splendidly, playing one chipper and jovial tune after another until the tavern was bustling with singing patrons and Jaskier could slip away back to the booth with rejuvenated energy. His skin humming with the life that human happiness instilled in him, a kickstart to his heart and flooding his personal reserves until he was brimming with it. 

By now, Geralt had finished both meals and was on his third round of drinks when he urged the angel to retire for the evening. They weren't going to encounter his target tonight and the Reaper looked to be in a phenomenally fouler mood than when they entered the tavern earlier that afternoon. Which was really saying something because Jaskier swore he was exceptionally peeved upon finding out _what_ his contract was for. His puzzlement was shown only momentarily before he schooled his expression to something easy and understanding. Coaxing the Reaper to lead the way back to their room with a small elaborate bow.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Cats and kids were always the first to notice him when they passed through the small sleepy village at the crack of dawn. Jaskier was by his side, lute case slung over his back as he inspected the morning life as people rose to join the hustle and bustle of the market. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head as they walked. Geralt's fingers wound into the reins as he led Roach through the busy streets. At first glance, she was a normal chestnut brown mare that loved and adored her master, tugging at his hair gently or head butting his shoulder in small nudges to garner his unconditional attention.

Geralt would turn and smile at her, feeling her determined muzzle digging into his cloak in search of a prized treasure. The Reaper laughed, a gentle breathy sound that Jaskier rarely heard leave the man and often found himself second guessing if he heard true. But yes, this tall dark brooding figure of death was laughing like a young farm boy with his favorite horse. He gently pushed her muzzle away and reached into his pocket to withdraw a small pouch filled with small white grainy cubes of sugar. He palmed one and held it out for Roach to consume greedily before stroking his hand along her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. She snorted at him, looking rightfully pleased with herself as he tucked the pouch away and continued their pace.

When he focused on them both, Jaskier could see through their mortal disguises. Geralt's was strikingly terrifying at first look and had left him wary and speechless (nervously chatty to be more precise), for days until he grew used to that foreboding figure and that icy scowl. 

But Roach, she was a majestic black beauty with hair that flowed like the night sky, speckled in tiny starbursts and burning like a black flame. Her eyes were a milky white, ominous and lacking depth and yet, seemed unending like a welcoming void of nothingness. It was funny how her absence of expression somehow made her the most expressive creature Jaskier had ever laid eyes upon. And her fondness for her rider was obvious in the long drawn out looks she gave him. The way she stayed close, allowing for slack in her reins just so long as she could nudge him and nibble at the silver free flowing lengths of his hair.

Jaskier smiled to himself, a pleased hum rising in his throat when they passed by a small wooden stand, currently vacant aside from one displeased tabby perched proudly in the warm morning sun. It's golden eyes met Geralt's before hissing viciously in alarm, fur ruffled and risen as it spit and growled at the Reaper. Geralt rolled his eyes and kept walking, the feline remained offended, slinking out of its arched state to flee towards the busier market for good measure.

"Why do cats despise you?" Jaskier asked after a moment, speeding up his steps to settle his pace at Geralt's side. 

"You know the old saying that cats have nine lives?" Jaskier narrowed his eyes at that, unsure if there was truth in something so preposterous. How could one mortal creature live so many lives? 

"It really is true." Geralt clarified as if answering Jaskier's inner thoughts. The angel shifted nervously for a moment, fixing the position of his lute as he considered this. _That doesn't sound right though._

"It was an after effect from the gates colliding. Monsters entered this world, mages gained magic and cats have nine lives." He shrugged. "Most remember me from their first life and have learned to despise and avoid me since."

Jaskier stopped and stared after Geralt for a moment, swearing up and down (not really) that this man was making a joke. He had to be teasing. Playing with him, truly. But it was incredibly hard to tell when he was so dark and stoic all the time. He shook the inquiry out of his head, sighed and continued to catch up. They bypassed children playing in the street, two little boys and a little girl who turned to greet the Reaper with fond smiles and giddy waves.

Geralt offered a small smile in return, just the tiniest twitch of his lips as his hard features softened to something welcoming and less stern.

"Mister! Mister! Do you wanna play hide n seek with us?" The little girl chimed excitedly, bouncing on her tiptoes in her little green dress. Her knees were already muddy from the morning dew and the damp earth, and beside them were simplistic drawings made by fingers and sticks digging into the dirt. Jaskier tried to discern if it was a dog or a horse that the little girl drew. It was built like an overstuffed sausage and had four spindly legs and a big head. _Was that a tail or was it taking a crap?_ He really couldn't tell. And with children, anything was possible.

And it seemed, the same went with Geralt.

Jaskier was genuinely surprised when the Reaper let go of Roach's reins to crouch down to eye level with the child. The cold that seeped off of him in rolling clouds was surprisingly absent, the shadows less fierce and the dark fog that followed the man like a sickly miasma had lifted. It was as if Jaskier was seeing Geralt clearly for the very first time. The gentleness in his movements, the smoothness of his voice as he played along with a thoughtful hum tilting his head as he considered the request.

Jaskier felt Roach shift at his side, her green eyes gazing fondly upon her master as if she already knew what would follow. Jaskier heard the low rumble of acceptance as the Reaper smiled, something real and so very _rare._ He caught it for only a moment. A brief flash of teeth that lost their previous sharpness. It was the most _human_ Jaskier has ever seen his companion and all it took was a request from a child. 

Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, an apologetic nod followed as the angel waved him off with a smile. He joined Roach by the gates of the village as Geralt and the children raced around in the low grass and brush that grew near the front. There were piles of lumber to hide behind and heaps of leaves and bushes to crawl into. The Reaper made short work of finding the two boys, his keen golden eyes tracking their trails through the dirt as clumsy tiny footprint imprinted the earth. But the little girl was smarter, using rocks and logs to clamber over the terrain as she zigzagged her path with indecision in where to hide.

It took a sharp turn into the woods nearby, her small footprints pressed into a bed of moss that was scuffed by a fall. Her fingers dug into the earth as she shambled and recovered. Geralt's open amusement shifted to something harder when he noticed the steps grow clumsier and more urgent. Then a second set of prints joined in pursuit, far larger and less pleasant.

Geralt's head snapped up when he heard a scream rip through the woods, fragile and young. A plea for help cut off too quickly and the muffled cries of the little girl. Geralt rushed towards the sound, the prickling edge of static curled under his skin, accompanied by a cold fire burning up his nerves and that familiar vibration against his chest as his Reaper medallion vibrated beneath his shirt. His target was close by.

He broke through a clearing where the tall figure of a man stood waiting. He was older than Geralt last saw him, his beard greyed along with his short carefully groomed hair. Despite fleeing death for a few hundred years, Stregobor could not escape _time_. His face was rife with wrinkles, be it from age or stress, Geralt honestly didn't give a rats ass about. The man stood smugly in a dark blue cloak, one hand held out with a dagger pressed to the throat of the little girl. The other kept a vice grip locked on her shoulder, ensuring she couldn't wiggle free of his hold. Her eyes were dull and glazed over, staring at the ground as if lost to a trance. Tears still streaked her cheeks but her small fragile body looked like a delicate little doll being manhandled incorrectly.

It flared something primal inside of Geralt. The shadows that claimed his form rolled off of his body in great bellows of sickly smoke, large plumes that sunk low to the earth and spread like the fog over a valley. Stregobor clicked his tongue in disappointment, dragging the dagger tip dangerously close to her throat. 

Geralt froze, lips parted in a sharp toothed snarl. "What do you want Stregobor?" It was rough, a bark of demand. His eyes couldn't tear free of that dagger inching closer to the child's jugular. One mistake and she'll die. There will be no second chances with an injury like that.

"Ah, Geralt you never disappoint. Always so direct. So easily manipulated. So _predictable._ " Stregobor lavished the last word across his tongue with a moment of admiration as if to bask in his own genius. He sighed, a smug self-satisfied sound that was more akin to the screeching of nekkers in Geralt's mind. He despised mages and Stregobor was the exact reason for that hatred.

"Get to the fucking point." Geralt hissed. 

He earned a pout from the mage who waved the dagger rather pointedly as if to remind him who was in charge here. "I want immortality and you shall give it to me."

"That's impossible. Immortality does not exist. Everything dies eventually. The only difference is how long it takes to get there." Geralt pointed out but that fact seemed to escape Stregobor entirely as he continued.

"Reaper Law. Your code of conduct yes?" Stregobor explained as if to remind a child of the most basic rules to follow. It only riled Geralt up further as the forest became shrouded in the intense fog. Geralt could barely see the little girl now, and Stregobor was an unclear visage made fuzzy by the swirling shadows and clouds that surrounded them. The air became so bitterly cold, causing every breath to come out in little puffs.

"Settle down Geralt before you give the poor girl hypothermia. It would be a crying shame, wouldn't it?" He tutted. Geralt growled but reeled back his anger to a tightly wound ball. The fog faded some as the morning sun broke through the clearing and illuminated everything in an eerie golden glow.

"Now then, Reaper Law states only my assigned Reaper can take my soul. Unless my Reaper has met an untimely fate themselves, no others can claim me." He recited. "As long as my Reaper lives, I may live as long as I wish."

"Until the day I come to collect and I swear to you, that day is coming soon." Geralt growled. 

"Ah ah ah! Now Geralt, this isn't just some courtesy call on my part." Stregobor warned, raising the knife away from the little girl's neck. He shoved her forward, causing Geralt to lunge on impulse to catch her. When the Reaper looked up, he saw the mage slice his hand open and bleed on a rune seal. He uttered a quick chant before a nest of chains sprung down from the surrounding trees like vicious serpents. Geralt curled in over the girl to protect her but the chains shackled his wrists and wrenched them free, the cold slither of magic infused iron encircled his body, binding him in place. His ankles locked together and an iron clasp encircled his neck as he was forced into a submissive kneel. He fought and twisted to get free, only met with the burning pain as magic charged throughout his body like a lightning storm, arcing up his veins and slicing through his core over and over again. Geralt screamed in agony, slumping against the restraints as Stregobor shared his amusement with a sickly laugh. 

He approached with that same self-satisfied greasy smile, catching the Reaper's chin to lift his gaze. Dull grey meeting inhuman gold as he purred. "As one captures a Djinn, one may utilize the same process to bind a Reaper. With you out of the way, I have no need to fear an untimely death."

"I'm going to enjoy ripping your soul out of your chest you son of a bitch." Geralt snarled, digging sharp teeth into the unprotected flesh of the mage's hand. Stregobor yelled in pain, flinging Geralt across the clearing with a wave of his free hand. The Reaper groaned as he met the bulk of a tree and landed in a heap atop the thick unpleasant roots below. He struggled to move but every shift and twitch caused another punishing surge to swell through his body, sapping away his energy.

"How long does it take a Reaper to go mad, I wonder." Stregobor hummed in his approach to collect his new plaything. The sickly sweet amusement made Geralt feel nauseous, cleaving pain through his body like a hot knife. The collar was far too tight as he tried to squirm in a pitiful attempt for slack but every movement only tightened his bonds further like constricting serpents. The pleased sound of the mage's gravelly voice echoed in his ears like distant ominous warning bells. They screamed danger but Geralt already knew it was too late. "You are a specimen I will enjoy studying and look, we have all the time in the world." 


	3. Cheating Death (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some graphic scenes of torture so please be wary. I hope you enjoy this installment and I promise the next one will be a lot more fluffy and light hearted.
> 
> Also, if you want a little laugh, when Jaskier's POV starts, trying listening to Ghost Riders In The Sky by Johnny Cash because it is very fitting for the scene.

"I really hate mages." Geralt snarled in the silence of his cell, which was a giant energized box made entirely of magic. The restraints remained from earlier, only now he was secured to a stone pillar covered in runes etched into the facade and painted markings. All of which was being used to keep him helpless and captive. He really had to give it to Stregobor though, his level of insanity was impressive. Most mages don't have the balls to even attempt to fight a Reaper, let alone _capture_ one. On the other hand, Geralt sincerely doubted Stregobor even had balls to begin with. Maybe he was kicked by an ox as a child? Maybe that was his _magical disability?_ That would definitely explain his Tower of illusionary naked women.

Geralt twisted his wrists in the cuffs and gave them a testing tug. He was greeted with a searing pain that sliced through his flesh as the ruins on the stone started to glow and the metal burned like a hot iron from a blacksmith's forge. He groaned, teeth gritted together as he sagged in the restraints. The taste of blood washing over his tongue and a bitter acrid tickling of bile inching up his throat.

He hated mages. He hated magic. He hated everything about the gates and their effects on this whole damn world. Things used to be so much simpler once upon a time. The most exciting part of his day was sitting in on an execution or watching a monarch be assassinated. He didn't derive any satisfaction or pleasure from these incidences. It just made the boring tendencies of humanity seem a little bit fresh compared to all the dying sick, the elderly that pass in their sleep or the occasional drowned fisherman that fell from their boat. And once in a great while he'll get a stabbing or a trampling by way of horse. 

Once every few years a war will spice things up and then the workload increases and he sees his brethren walking the battlefields beside him. Those days are mildly more pleasant because at least he has familiar companionship to accompany the tedious repetition. But poor Roach has to carry all those souls afterwards. A burden unlike any other, it was.

"You look rather comfortable." Stregobor's voice rang loudly in Geralt's ears, scraping along his skull with disgust. The Reaper hissed under his breath and dragged his gaze to meet the mage's. The dark scowl alone spoke volumes on how Geralt felt about this whole situation but the mage blatantly ignored his silent aggression and carried on his chipper tone.

"Pardon the accommodations but were you more agreeable, I could have found a more pleasant room for you. But then again, you probably don't mind. You're not human at least. I wonder if you share in the same discomforts as us." Stregobor hummed thoughtfully. 

Geralt barked out a laugh at that, a low chuckle that drew the mage's attention. "It's amusing how you think you're still _human._ That requires a modicum of _humanity_ which you lack."

Stregobor's mouth twitched, the corner of his lips shifting in mild amusement. "Very well. I wonder…" his voice trailed on the air as he stalked the edges of the prison, settling a clinical speculative eye upon Geralt. His hands folded behind his back as he came to a standstill in front of Geralt. "Do you bleed like a mortal? Do you experience _pain_ like one? Do you heal quickly or does the damage linger without your abilities?"

He laughed, a low dark sound that was muffled behind closed lips. "I know I said we have all the time in the world, but this is a fascinating opportunity and I really don't want to put it off any longer." He smiled a predatory smile, giving a short series of claps with his hands as torchlight filled the room and exposed the true nature of its purpose. It was a laboratory, which Geralt half expected. Mages like their science and whatnot. Testing and experimenting to the extremes, pushing the boundaries of natural laws and the extents that life can uphold. It was clinical torture more often than not. To unwilling or unprepared subjects. One of which, Geralt had had the misfortune of handling himself. It was centuries ago and she was just a girl. A child really, too young to have truly lived but forced to endure a lifetime of pain in her few short years. Most of which came at Stregobor's hands. Yet, she was not even the first nor was she the last to fall victim to his cruelty.

"Let's start with something simple, shall we?" Stregobor gave a devilish smile, all too pleased with himself when he plucked a scalpel from a table and inspected it closely. He traced the sharp edge in a thoughtful stroke before approaching Geralt's prison. The magical ward did not fall, but Stregobor entered freely, the wall melting around him and accepting him into the tiny claustrophobic cage of his own making.

"You will die a thousand times over, I promise you this." Geralt snapped as the mage traced the tip of the instrument along his jawline. 

"I wonder what will happen if I carve out one of your eyes." The mage mused. "It is a fascinating shade of gold with those unnatural slits. It is similar to a reptile's at first glance but is the organic material the same?" He hummed, allowed the blade to linger at the corner of his eye, tracking along the lid before withdrawing. His hopes of getting a rise out of the Reaper appeared to be in vain but he resigned and placed his attention on Geralt's arm instead, where he made a calculated incision and captured the fluid that flowed out. It was slow and thick, a dark puddle that pooled into a basin almost akin to honey or syrup in its viscosity.

"Hm, a slower heartbeat then." Stregobor noted when the designated site, closest to an artery, didn't give much for long. It slowed and stopped after maybe half a pint was spilled. The mage stirred the bowl in a small circle and watched the blood already begin to congeal into one large wet blob. "Truly fascinating."

Stregobor lifted his head to meet Geralt's gaze and smiled broadly. "We're going to have a wonderful time, you and I. So many discoveries. You know, you are not the first Reaper to have been captured by a mage. Though the evidence of the previous mage's experiments was destroyed when its specimen turned on them." He frowned. 

"I wonder why." The sarcasm was dripping from Geralt's lips. "You would have been wise to learn from your peers."

"Oh, I have. That is how I learned the ways to bind your kind. I would have never thought that the process would be so similar to a Djinn's. Only instead of wishes, I gain immortality. A far better trade in my opinion." Stregobor yammered on excitedly, turning away from Geralt with a dismissive wave of the bloody scalpel as he returned to the table with his sample. "This will not be enough, I assure you. Our time together is only getting started."

"How wonderful." Geralt grunted.

* * *

“Nobody prepared me for this sort of problem!” Jaskier blurted as he gripped the reins tightly in his palms, trying his hardest to not be bucked off and thrown in the horse’s distressed state. Today was turning into a right bloody mess if he was being honest. 

The angel had waited back at the village entrance for Geralt to return and the two previous children had already come back, mumbling their disappointment at being caught so quickly by the elder man. They joked and played a small game of tag while they waited, eventually roping Jaskier into the game which the angel joined gladly. But time passed by and the morning was growing busier, the people in the village were oblivious to the goings on outside of their carefully constructed walls, and so was Jaskier until he felt a tremor of unease ripple across his body. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when the faint cries of distress haunted his mind. The pain was a throbbing ache that pulsed throughout his chest, clenched tightly around his heart. Blind panic. _Fear._

Roach reared back, tugging her reins free of the stand the angel had tied her off on, very nearly ripping the post itself free of the earth. She slipped the knot and bolted. Jaskier had just enough mind and reflex to grab ahold of her in her passing and scrambled onto her saddle before she sped off through the thicket of woods. The trees whizzed by at a dangerous pace, low lying branches barely missing Jaskier as he hunkered down against the mare’s body. His arms snaked around her neck as she charged into a clearing. There was a distant scream, pained and familiar. A deep guttural sound before it was enveloped by the roar of a magic portal. Jaskier managed to catch a glimpse of a dark cloaked figure walking through a low lying fog, dragging the Reaper through the large orange vortex ripped into the fabric of the air around them. It closed up as they surged into the clearing, leaving the angel in confused silence.

A tiny fragile whimper sounded as Roach stopped in her tracks, her head bowing to inspect the huddled fitful form of the little girl. She was curled up into a tight ball, shivering and fragile in the dissipating fog. Her fragile pleas were the call that rang out to the angel. Her desperation and terror, but the pain was not hers. No, that Jaskier was certain which did not bode well for the Reaper. 

Jaskier had returned the little girl to the village and cleared the memory of Geralt from her mind, shrouding it in a fuzzy haze that she could dismiss as a bad dream. Her fears will subside and she will continue on living as a happy playful little girl, still so trusting and cheerful.

He had no idea what to do next or even how to find Geralt. He was not experienced in magic or tracking like the Reaper was and he didn’t have a companion to ask for assistance. He squeezed the reins tightly in his grasp and heaved a heavy sigh, though this seemed to stir Roach into movement. She took off in a gallop, racing down the dirt path outside the village, steadily picking up speed as she rounded a bend. Jaskier could do little but hold on for dear life lest he be left behind. Her hooves pounded the earth like thunder, a rolling sound that snapped like lightning and a crackle of energy that enveloped them in a steady build. Jaskier didn’t notice the cliff ahead of them until it was too late. Roach leap without any prompting, Jaskier screamed, anticipating a very painful and very big drop but Roach kept running, with sure hooves and an unbridled purpose as the sky opened up before them. The clouds rolled by in thick dark plumes like smoke over a battlefield. The thunderous roar was deafening now and every hoofbeat scattered an electric current all around them. It charged until it could handle no more then lashed out at the sky and the earth below.

“You can fly?” Jaskier was both extremely startled and also somewhat not very surprised now that he thought about it. Reapers needed to be many places at once and he assumed they would have far faster modes of transportation than simply walking like mortal peasants to get everywhere. He just didn’t expect for Roach to climb the clouds in doing so. He was briefly reminded of tales, ones he overheard while sitting in a tavern in the early days of his travels with Geralt. Some townsfolk were talking about specters that race across the night sky. Stories of hunters that chase down the wicked and punish them. Geralt had looked mildly amused when he overheard the tale but never commented on it.

It only clicked for Jaskier now, why the twitch of his lips looked so smug if only for a moment. Why the light in his eyes seemed a tiny bit brighter. He sighed.

“I hope you can find Geralt.” Jaskier murmured to Roach who snorted in response. It felt confident at least as her powerful body surged through the clouds like the coming storm, pounding the rains out of the darkest parts as she passed by.

  
  


* * *

Geralt gritted his teeth, biting back a scream as he fought his shackles. Stregobor’s face was far too close for his comfort as the man flayed the flesh from his chest with a knife, taking a palm sized chunk of pale skin as yet _another_ sample. His mouth was full of blood from the tooth the man pried from his jaw after the Reaper had bitten the mage a second time, tearing a considerable laceration along his finger and scraping over his knuckles. Geralt’s triumph was short lived for that as the man ripped one of his back teeth out with a sickening crack.

He’s been burned and bled already, electrocuted _twice,_ the first time apparently didn’t last long enough as Stregobor expressed interest in Geralt’s heart and how to pick its pace up to match the quick thuds of a human one.

As the mage stepped away from his specimen, he dragged a critical eye over Geralt’s trembling bloody form. The exhaustion was apparent as every surge of magic that coursed through his body further drained his reserves and left him unable to keep up with the torture. For a man intent on keeping his target _alive,_ Stregobor was doing a piss poor job of it. 

Of course, a Reaper wouldn’t die so easily, Geralt would admit they were resilient bastards. But only time would tell before Stregobor grows bored and leaves Geralt in his prison to wither away. He didn’t _need_ sustenance the way humans did but to be able to keep his mortal appearance, he needed to partake of their world. Which meant eating and drinking the same foods, drawing off of their energy and occasionally “enjoying” their company. Otherwise, he’s nothing more than a monster which makes it incredibly hard to do the job when the dying are too terrified of him to find peace in the afterlife.

Which had an odd hint of irony to it. Once upon a time, he was the scariest thing to exist in this world. But then the gates collided and he became a secondary concern as _real tangible_ monsters roamed the world. He was a fleeting thought, an illusionary factor of existence that came _after_ encountering a monster. People had fooled themselves into believing as long as they avoided the monsters in the world, they could somehow live long peaceful happy lives. That death wouldn’t come unless it was on their own terms. It was a twisted kind of view in the world but it made his job a fraction easier. He was just the surprise waiting at the end of the line, one hand held out in offering and most folks didn’t think twice about accepting. They had forgotten his face and their reasons to fear him. After all, death wasn’t a monster. The real monsters lurk at night and prowl with sharp teeth and toxic claws and an untempered hunger for flesh, rotting or otherwise.

“You’re not as terrifying now when you’re all used up.” Stregobor chuckled, wiping the blood from his hands with a stained rag. The dark splotches of Geralt’s existence were a backsplash that stained the stone floor beneath their feet and the fabric of Stregobor’s cloak. It pooled and seeped across the cold surface, congealed into a slippery mess that splattered the mage’s shoes. He looked mildly discontented at that additional detail but ignored it as he collected the numerous samples and started the arduous task of preserving them for future study. The thrill that rushed through Stregobor came out in a shrill whistling tune that followed him around the room and sounded far too loud for Geralt’s sensitive ears.

His amber eyes narrowed on the figure as he shuffled back and forth between his beakers and his phials, chattering on to himself like the town drunk and jotting information down in his journal. He proved pleasantly distracted for the time being, which allowed the Reaper to focus his attention on the Chort in the room. Or in his case, the Angel. His eyes shifted to the opposite end where the flickering fires that adorned the entryway seemed a small bit brighter in their glow. The familiar presence of warmth nudged at him, even across the cold silence of the room, he could feel Jaskier’s celestial impulses. A balm that soothed over the worst of his pain, easing it back to a blissful numbness that was easily ignored.

It gave him enough of a spark as his fingers wound into tight fists. He hoisted his weight with his upper arms, feeling the collar at his neck restrict against his adam’s apple in warning but he neglected to heed it. He drew in a deep breath and gritted his teeth as he fought the runes that shackled him. The magic surged throughout his body, garnering the mage’s quizzical look.

“If I’d known you were a glutton for punishment, I would have planned more fun studies for us to partake in.” Stregobor waved his hand in an abandoned gesture as he observed the Reaper. Geralt didn’t stop his struggle, even as the runes burned brightly until it was hard to look at their light. They throbbed and pulsed like beacons as he started to push them to their threshold. “If you keep this up, you’ll only succeed in killing yourself.”

“Not my problem.” Geralt grunted out pointedly. “If ack- I die then my body returns to the earth, er-ugh- you lose your precious samples and another Reaper claims your soul.” He pulled against the restraints until they felt on the verge of crushing him. The fear that lanced through Stregobor’s gaze was a spur of triumph that urged Geralt on in his endeavor. It felt like he was ripping his own body to pieces as the magic made a mad scramble to suppress his intentions. Stregobor twitched, his jaw clenched tightly in indecision as he stepped towards the Reaper.

“You’re insane.” Stregobor spat.

“Comin from the loon’s own mouth.” Geralt groaned, twisting against the stone as it started to fracture at the anchor points. Stregobor’s concerned expression flashed with horror. He backed away from the prison, his self-satisfied smile nowhere to be found now as panic seized him and the pungent odor of fear permeated the air.

Another rush of energy was pushed in Geralt’s direction, hard enough to catch Stregobor’s attention as the mage whipped around and spotted Jaskier’s cautious approach. His lute case still slung over his shoulder and the soft blue silks shone in a calming light. His face softened by innocence yet his eyes held a storm raging within. The placid blue had been stirred up into a force to rival a Skellige tide crashing over the jagged rocks.

“And what might you be?” The mage cast a quick calculated eye upon the angel but appeared to find his overall appearance lacking any need for special attention.

“I’m just a humble bard.” Jaskier’s courteous words rang like a melody on the air, reaching Geralt’s ears like a gentle lull. “I have come to collect my friend, if you don’t mind.”

“He’s indisposed of at the moment.” Stregobor stepped away from the bard, keeping a careful watch on him. This was a troubling task as he tried to split his attention between Geralt and Jaskier. His gaze darted towards the prison as the stones cracked and one of the shackles gave way. The runes exploded, further breaking apart that which held the Reaper firmly in place. The mage cursed under his breath when Geralt’s boots hit the cold stone ground beneath him, sliding just a fraction in the slick of his own blood before approaching the wards of his cell. The chains dragged behind him like an ominous death rattle, clanging together as the room fell several degrees colder. Every breath became visible in little white puffs that floated in front of his face. 

The prison shattered like a fragile sheet of ice, met by the bloodied fists of the Reaper as his anger rolled off of him in thick waves of fog and shadowy smoke that quickly filled the room. The torchlight was snuffed out as ice formed on every surface, leeching every ounce of warmth from the tiny darkened space.

Stregobor twisted around to flee, summoning a portal to escape through but the painful whip of a chain slammed into his ribcage and sprawled him across the ground in a heap. The room succumbed to deeper darkness as the miasma of Geralt’s presence consumed it whole, spiralling out in waves and sweeping, curling tendrils. His body melted into the backdrop, a visage of moonlight and blazing golden eyes that burned like meteors streaking across the night sky. His body morphed and twisted until all Stregobor could see was sharp teeth and a blur of white.

The mage’s screams were an unholy echo that trembled through the entire building. The quakes of every rattling breath heaved through the air with a metallic pang as blood ran warmly across the icy stonework.


	4. Sleep Little Babes

The day was pleasantly warm, but tempered by a cool breeze dancing over the fields and meadows as they passed by. The soft clop of Roach's hooves was a steady sound as they traveled at a leisurely pace through the Novigrad countryside. Jaskier strummed a few chords on his lute, played with a new melody that tiptoed around his head. He broke it up with intervals of humming to work the song around in his mouth, feeling the lyrics already coming forth. His muse was the beautiful day and the joyous greetings of the villagers that met them in the last village they came through.

His delight in meeting and talking with the new people, trading tales and listening to their stories while Jaskier observed the ones on their souls, was an unending pleasure. The inspiration for this song was about an elderly fellow who has been madly in love with his wife for over fifty years now. The pair ran the tavern together and their fondness was a tangible thread that wrapped around their souls. It was a rare and beautiful phenomenon that was always so romantic to the angel.

Even Geralt's usual foul mood couldn't ruin the bubbly atmosphere the two mortals gave off. The energy was pleasantly electric and their hospitality was so warm and welcoming to all weary travelers. They were a beloved fixture in their village, that was for certain.

The angel sighed, a contented sound as he tucked his lute behind his back and glanced towards the Reaper curiously. He was perched high upon Roach, the reins held loosely in his grasp as those golden eyes gazed off into the distance. 

His demeanor had shifted, Jaskier noted, since the incident with the mage. Not that the angel could blame him for it, especially at the horrors the mortal inflicted upon the Reaper and what he intended to do later. All of his schemes and ideas had been painstakingly listed in the journal he was writing in. Three pages worth of plans read over and Jaskier was feeling sick. There were at least a dozen more that went into full dark detail with captions of Stregobor's inner monologue and his reminiscences of their past encounters. The first time Geralt came for him was the day he took the life of a young girl named Renfri. That had been the introduction to many following encounters over the next two centuries.

Geralt had sparked a fire within Stregobor's tower, a flash of igni that destroyed every last sample and document within the laboratory. He mumbled something in passing as the smoke and flames consumed the room and licked at the walls and rubble in greedy little grabs for sustenance. "It's too dangerous. Has to be destroyed."

Jaskier couldn't find the flaw in that explanation and followed after the Reaper until they were halfway out of the building. Geralt collapsed as his borrowed energy bled out of him, leaving Jaskier to quickly come to his aid. He didn't mind the blood that soaked Geralt's clothing or the crimson stains on his face and the red discoloring his sharp teeth. He ignored how it clotted in his hair and how his weakness made him look the most mortal and human Jaskier has ever seen before. The shadows were absent and the cold fog had vanished like fading smoke. His skin was clammy to the touch and the light in his eyes had faded to a dull sheen. Jaskier applied a bit of his own grace to the Reaper, a small patchwork of golden light that wove into his wounds and healed them over. It was all he could offer in a pinch. He had already given up almost his entire reserve for Geralt to overwhelm the binds keeping him imprisoned.

That was weeks ago. Jaskier had noticed the Reaper was sluggish and they hadn't had any jobs for a while. They just traveled from place to place as Geralt waited for a contract to fall into his lap. It was eerily quiet. The peace that encompassed the land was a calming bliss that lightened the mood a bit more. Geralt wasn't necessarily bad traveling company but Jaskier did crave the exciting chatter of others. The peace was nice, truly. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. But silence was so ordinarily _dull_. He felt compelled to do something about it and something he shall.

He had just slung his lute back around, cradling its warm wood against his chest to strum a few opening notes when Geralt shushed him. Jaskier frowned, gazing up at the Reaper who wasn't looking at him at all. The angel questioned momentarily if he even heard Geralt or if it were a figment of his imagination.

Roach stopped in her tracks, her head lifted pointedly to gaze over a pasture that buddies up against the road. The wood posts were grown over with wild flowers and tangled weeds and ivy, a lovely display really. But Jaskier didn't linger long on that. His puzzlement came as both Reaper and Roach stared out knowingly before Geralt slipped off of the saddle. He steadied himself with a hand on Roach's side before climbing over the fence. Jaskier contemplated following before curiosity got the better of him. He had to scramble to keep up as Geralt seemed to suddenly find a burst of new life in his steps. His previously rundown appearance was absent as he strode across the tall grasses of the field until he found a large brown mass lying down in the far corner.

Nearby, cows grazed unhindered by the Reaper's presence as he dropped to kneel in the flattened stretch of grass. Jaskier could only see Geralt's head in his approach now, and as he cleared the distance between them, he saw what had stolen the Reaper's attention. The large brown mass was a female cow laid out in the grass breathing heavily. She bayed and lifted her head before letting it rest against the grass once more. Her sides heaved in quick breaths, painful and loud as she blew through her nostrils and struggled through the process of birth.

Geralt rested a gentle hand on her side, calming her with a quiet hush and dragged his palm over her flank. Her panicked sounds were a little less desperate as she pushed through the contractions and the first signs of her baby came through. Geralt spoke lowly to her, that quiet rumble had softened as her ears flicked and she lifted her head in a small attempt to look at him. He pet a hand over her head and stroked down along her neck as she settled against the ground.

Jaskier could only watch in awe as the minutes ticked by and Geralt helped the mother along the way as she pushed and pushed. This labor was an extensive one, and she had been trying for hours. The exhaustion was plain to see as she trembled and struggled through the process. When the front legs breached, the process became a bit smoother after that as Geralt crouched behind and pulled the hooves out, freeing the young one from the mother. The cow grunted and started to stand up on her own, turning to see her new baby as it laid in the grass.

Geralt watched and stepped back to give the pair their space, deciding to perch up on the fence post while they waited. Jaskier was confused but pleasantly surprised by the whole scene. His lips spread in a broad smile as he chattered on. 

"That was impressive. Truly. Where did you learn to do that?" He nudged, hoping for more than a few grunts and a _hm_ from his companion. There was an extensive silence as Geralt's golden eyes inspected the family before him, as the mother licked her calf clean and urged it with gentle nudges of her muzzle, to stand on its own.

"On the Path, you learn a lot about life just by watching." He sighed, a heavy strained sound of resignation. He gestured towards the two cows. "The baby isn't going to make it."

"What do you mean?" Jaskier was startled by this observation. He looked back at the pair and watched the mother's growing concern as she tried again and again to get her calf to stand. It made a valiant effort but the babe didn't have the strength.

"The muscles are too weak to hold it up. Its hind legs aren't good." He explained matter-of-factly.

"Well, can't it be given a second chance?" Jaskier stood before the Reaper with pleading blue eyes, but Geralt's cool gaze forced him to an early submission.

"A second chance just to live today and die in a week when a predator kills it. It can't run. It can't stand. It won't be able to feed and it will only suffer longer." His words were firm but not cruel. It was a harsh truth that Jaskier needed to learn about the world and life as a whole. Not every story has a happy ending. Not everyone is a hero and falls in love. Some die alone and miserable. Some die prematurely. Some never even get a chance to live life at all. It's a hard fact of life.

Jaskier withdrew his protests and settled with his back pressed against the fence post. His eyes fixed on the calf and its struggles. He felt its confusion, the little pulses of its fear and the desperation as it tried again and again until it was too exhausted to even move its head. He felt its hunger, it's quiet pleas to a mother it had only just met. The mother's fear was palpable as well, her frantic encouragements falling on deaf ears as her calf gave up any attempt at trying. He swiped a falling tear away from his cheek as their emotions filled him up inside and magnified to his own. It felt wrong. It felt _unfair_ that this was how it was supposed to be. And yet he could do nothing to change it.

Geralt stepped away from the fence to approach the calf once more. The mother stared mournfully now at the man who had helped her in her time of need, now come to take her baby away. He offered her an apologetic look as he drew his steel sword and pressed a hand to her head, stroking along her forehead and over her jaw as he murmured. "I'm sorry for your loss but you will be a good mother soon. Your next one will live, I promise."

Her big brown eyes met Geralt's unnatural golden and found peace in his presence. She stepped away from the Reaper with a nod of understanding and allowed him to do his job. He nodded, a quiet bob of his head in gratitude as he knelt beside the young calf. He set his sword down in the grass and carefully gathered the fragile babe in his arms. It lifted its head to welcome him with a gentle nudge of it's cold wet nose. Geralt ignored the dampness smeared on his cheek and felt the fading beat of the calf's heart. "You were loved in the brief moments you spent in this world. Please find peace in the next." His fingers spread across the calf's head and down it's back, a gentle stroke through soft chocolate fur.

The little animal made a weak sound in its throat, a dying cough that rasped in its chest before it grew heavy in Geralt's arms. Its head hung like a weight against his bicep as it closed its eyes for the last time. He laid the small babe down in the grass and picked up his sword. His mortal form unraveled, as the cloak of shadows swirled around him and that ethereal moonlight glow shimmered over him. The cold kiss of the grave crept around the edges as he raised his blade and focused.

Jaskier felt a shiver of energy spiral through his body as he _felt_ more than saw, the tether that binds this fragile creature to their world materialize. It was a carefully woven chord lacking in color, a dull grey with only the tiniest hints of green that speckled it in tiny spots. Geralt's eyes followed the chord, picking the precise place to cut where it was weakest before bringing his blade to meet it. There was a crack that echoed through the air, not quite audible but something that Jaskier could feel vibrate inside him. That sudden _give_ as a too tight rope finally snaps.

Geralt was rewarded with a tiny orb of light, no bigger than a firefly that settled into his palm. The soul of the calf seemed to recognize him like an old friend, pulsing gently in greeting as the Reaper sheathed his sword and dug a vial from his pocket. "Come on little one." Geralt spoke fondly as he opened the vial. "Let's get you home where you belong."

It was hard for Jaskier to imagine that this was the same man that viciously killed a mage with his bare hands. A man who's anger was a force of nature in and of itself, who veils himself in the coldest depths of existence. And yet, he could be so warm and gentle and forgiving. So patient and otherworldly peaceful. So understanding of the mortal complexities and their emotional toils.

When he first got the assignment, Jaskier had been warned that Reapers were cold unfeeling, uncaring creatures. That their existence thrived on pain and misery. He had been concerned at first but his brethren had been wary about his assignment and had even avoided him with pitying looks and stolen apologetic glances as if working beside a Reaper was an automatic death sentence and Jaskier had gleefully stuck his head in the noose himself.

Jaskier wished to cheerfully remind each and every one of them how wrong they were. Sure, this life wasn't easy. This job was taxing and emotionally draining at times, but the end goal was pleasantly fulfilling. Even if the company was lacking in exuberance, Jaskier could always accommodate that absence by overindulgence in the next town.


	5. The Universe is Laughing and So Am I

Jaskier has learned many wonderful, fascinating, vulgar and concerning things while traveling by Geralt's side. And his newest discovery was that the Universe had a sense of humor. 

The pair had found themselves outside the toilets lined carefully along a single lane, all of them empty except for one. In it was a large old lumberman with a long grey beard matted and unkempt. He was bald with a wool cap atop his head, covering the red tips of his ears. His nose was rosy as well, and his fingers were nearly blue from the cold morning.

At a single glance, Geralt noted that the man's heart had stopped while he was in the middle of his morning business. Jaskier on the other hand, was drawn away towards the repulsive display made vivid with the absence of trousers to keep the unmentionables private. The stench was probably the worst thing about the whole scene and it wasn't just because of the shit.

"Do you get these often?" Jaskier asked, taking a few healthy strides back and subtly covering his nose and mouth while Geralt drew his steel sword.

"It's more common than you think." Geralt answered simply, allowing the tether to manifest before him, snaking out from between the man's legs and his overly full gut. Jaskier grimaced and looked away. He was all for observing Geralt's process and drinking in every detail of his work, but some days, modesty was a blessing.

"We should probably let somebody know he's here before necrophages come looking for a meal." Geralt pointed out as he carried the large ball of light in his hand back to Roach's saddle bags where he found a bigger flask for it to nestle into.

That was Jaskier's cue as the angel gave a tight smile towards the Reaper. "I'm sure I can find somebody nearby. I'll be back shortly."

It was their routine these days. Geralt finds the target, cuts the tether and claims the soul. And Jaskier runs off to find next of kin or anyone who would care enough to see that the deceased is properly handled. Finding the living was far easier for the angel than finding the dead, and his influence with them was rather persuasive. His warm aura and a tiny pinch of grace nudging them to be more open, and he had a willing and able body to assist in the task. 

Once in a great while, they'll find someone worthy or able to be given a second chance, should the requirements be met. And that choice was left ultimately up to Jaskier as he read their soul like one reads the artistic patterns on an unfinished tapestry. He can see what has already been lived, see the person that they are and the impressions of what might be next but he cannot see what is unfinished for it isn't written yet. He can only assume by what he has already seen. Some lived with good intentions, while others had bad. Each pattern varies, each event changes the colors of their lives and sometimes the image makes a drastic shift when the soul attempts to turn their lives around or they reach a dark path in their life that they can't escape.

Jaskier was learning all the different patterns lives could take on, and it was a wonderful experience to see how vastly different each life was and he enjoyed reading over them. Some of course, weren't always pleasant and not everyone had a happy ending. Or even an honorable one. 

Like the target Geralt had to go digging for in the middle of an icy Skellige lake. He had fallen through while fishing and had joined that which he wished to eat. It would have been tragic, seriously, except that he froze solid, stuck to the underside of the ice with his face smashed up against it. Geralt had to clear the mounds of fresh snow away from the surface and pawed a gloved hand over the glassy exterior. The pale face gazed up at him, with dead unseeing eyes. The Reaper sighed heavily and began the arduous task of cutting the ice free into a carefully configured block and anchored a rope around it which was tied to Roach's saddle.

The mare worked almost effortlessly as powerful hooves planted in the ice and dragged the brick along with the man half formed inside it. It toppled over so his ass was posed high in the air like he'd fallen face first in the snow like a common drunk from the tavern.

Jaskier stood clear of the open hole in the ground as the Reaper assumed his ethereal and chilling form which was for once, an appropriate presence in this frozen landscape. The angel was warmly dressed in comparison, with thick fur gloves and a thick wool scarf wrapped around his neck. His traveling cloak was a buffer against the wind and snow that buffeted his back and tousled his chestnut hair into little spirals and curls. White puffs floated in front of his face in tiny clouds with every breath. Occasionally the angel would get distracted by the tiny snowflakes that landed on the tips of his gloves or he would find interest in the tiny whirlwind dances of snow that circled the ice in elegant displays like a silent ballet.

Geralt worked tirelessly, golden eyes focused solely on the task at hand as he chipped through the ice until the cord could properly manifest. The soul was of average size with a flickering light that seemed tired and worn out. It had been listing in the body for a long time as its spark waned and neared a very different form of existence. One that was unfavorable for most Reaper's to encounter. Luckily, timing was on their side as Geralt secured the soul into a choice vial and led Roach by her reins, along the ice. Her hooves trekked carefully along as she dragged the frozen body behind her until it reached the lakeside where the nearby villagers could come to recover it.

The pair intended on staying in the village for the night anyway which was beneficial in the long run. Doubly so when Geralt's next target just so happened to be having breakfast that morning and choked on their grits and rasher.

The afternoon was a momentary reprieve that Jaskier utilized to try ice skating for the first time, urged on by the joyous and eager voices of small children. Geralt sat on the bank with his back tucked against a tree, watching as the angel fumbled gracelessly and lost his balance over and over again. The Reaper's laughter was a quiet sound in his throat that rumbled lowly, garnering a sheepish smile from the would-be bard who approached the embankment on shaky legs and challenged Geralt with a pout and his hands on his hips.

"Think you could do better? Why don't you give it a try Mr.Smartypants!" Jaskier's voice wobbled when his balance shifted and he landed squarely on his rear end. Roach had a few choice words to say about that as she whinied and hoofed the ground with a bob of her head. 

Geralt chuckled again and shook his head in gentle refusal. "You're doing a fine job of making a fool of yourself as is." He commented, securing only a more animated pout on the angel's face.

The children that skated with practiced ease sped by in little intricate swirls and spins. Pausing just long enough to look Geralt up and down and smile. "He's too old for ice skating."

Jaskier's brows raised in amusement, stifling his own laughter as he clapped his hands together and pushed himself back up to his feet very carefully. "The experts have spoken." He preened, tossing a sideways smile at Geralt who flashed a toothy grin at him. Seconds later, Jaskier landed on his butt once more, in a gracious heap, sprawling his limbs out further with a sigh of defeat. "I give up. I am not meant for such dainty endeavors. My skills are in music as it is my only muse. I forfeit this challenge and accept my humble defeat. You have my word."

Geralt chuckled and approached the edge of the ice, taking careful measured steps with his boots as he picked where to place his footing. He offered both hands to the angel and hoisted him back to his feet, steadying him in place as Jaskier tried again. Large strong hands slid down along the angel's arms, easing Jaskier's grasp to settle on his shoulders and grip the Reaper like a lifeline. Carefully and very slowly, Geralt urged the angel to give it another chance and circle the Reaper's large frame in a slow steady loop. One hand rested on Jaskier's lower back while the angel kept a firm hold on Geralt's shoulders.

After a few minutes, he started to kind of get the hang of it and resorted to just holding onto Geralt's hand as the Reaper stood stationary, only shifting enough to spin slowly in place with Jaskier. Then, when the timing felt right, he let go altogether and Jaskier shot off like a new pup allowed to run for the first time. He skated slower than the children around him, measuring his speed with anxious movements, nearly wiping out twice but when he stopped overthinking the actions, it became easier and less daunting as he tried to circle the group and looped back around towards Geralt. He bypassed the Reaper with an excited grin on his face before shooting off around for a second time.

His third had him speeding now, at a pace he couldn't rightfully control especially where braking was concerned. Jaskier ended up slamming right smack into Geralt's chest with a groan. His legs went out beneath him as he slipped down to the ice, sliding partway between Geralt's legs before the Reaper grabbed him with a strong grip and hoisted him back up with ease. He shuffled them both back to the embankment where he deposited the angel in a mound of snow and dropped down recklessly beside him. Geralt smirked, a smug look of amusement as he patted the snow from Jaskier's shoulders and proceeded to help the bard remove his skates and put on his considerably colder boots.

Jaskier was sheepish in his glances, sideways looks balancing shy smiles as he laced up his insulated boots properly and inspected the older man. "Shall we go then?" He inquired, cheeks burning warmly in the pale lighting of day as Geralt raised an inquisitive brow at the red tips of the bard's ears and the rosy end of his nose. Jaskier felt the sudden urge to tuck away inside his scarf, instead utilizing the moment to bid farewell to the children who approached and return the borrowed skates to their rightful owner.

  
  


With the cold mountain air of Skellige behind them, Jaskier found a familiar blissful warmth upon traveling through Toussaint. A land birthed out of a fairytale, one that certainly lived up to its extravagant name. Especially when Jaskier discovered the source of their next target. A man who was brutally impaled on the end of a Unicorn horn. 

"He tried to ride it." Geralt explained as he gestured towards the gaping hole that once held the man's heart. Now it lay somewhere in the vineyard wherever the unicorn had run off to. They had seen it briefly in the short period since it happened, blood trailing down its forehead as it galloped away almost haughtily with a disdainful flick of its tail and shake of its mane. "They're temperamental beasts. Normally skittish but this one didn't seem to take kindly to being roped."

Geralt gestured towards the broken braiding that had attempted to tether the creature. It was little concern for the magical beast that escaped skillfully from its mundane binds.

"That's somewhat horrifying." Jaskier commented, still taking the moment to commit that tidbit of information to memory. He stood back by Roach and watched the Reaper do his work with skillful hands and keen golden eyes honed into focus.

The soul was small and pale in light, a soft hum emanated from it as if it were trying to chat the Reaper up. Geralt promptly ignored it as he bottled the essence up. 

"Why would someone try to capture a unicorn?" Jaskier shifted at Roach's side, brushing his hands along her back in idle motions. His pale blue eyes still absorbing what had become of the man. "That seems rather foolish to try."

"He pledged his life and did it to impress a woman. Love is a fickle and foolish endeavor." Geralt scoffed, turning towards his horse to deposit the item into the designated saddle bag. He paused long enough to scowl at Jaskier who noticed the hint and backed away from Roach to give the man space. A shy smile plying Jaskier's lips as he focused his fidgeting on his lute instead.

"Love is...far from foolish." He worked out the words in his mouth, accompanying them with a few chords. "It can give even the most frightened soul the courage to do something bold. It is a purpose and a muse and often times, an inspiration beyond explanation."

"Love is for fools and to believe in that makes you one as well." Geralt grunted as he mounted Roach and steered her away from the field. Jaskier fell into routine step behind.

"Then color me the most foolish man to ever live for I believe in love and all its majesty." The bard sung proudly. Geralt rolled his eyes and shook his head in dismissal, turning his attention to far more productive means. Like tracking his next target. 

Which coincidentally, wasn't too far away.

"Where are we going?" Jaskier inquired warily as they stalked the steep cliffside and wound their way up along the narrow mountain paths. It was dangerous for most mortal men who attempts to make the peak, and for any creature that couldn't fly. But Geralt was determined as he made his way along the ledges, glancing down only long enough to spy Roach further down the trail, just a speck in the greenery waiting for his return. She looked unconcerned about her rider's safety as she grazed with disregard for the perils both the Reaper and angel faced.

Which would be far more dangerous could they actually be killed by mortal means. Of course, a fall from this height might not be deadly but it sure would hurt like a son of a whore. Geralt could attest to that in his long existence on this plane. Pain was not an experience he had grown accustomed to, despite all his past encounters. It was a uniquely mortal trait that could not be combatted to ease his workload whatsoever. It seemed to be yet another unspoken struggle (punishment) inflicted upon his kind.

"Griffin's nest." Geralt answered as they reached a flat landing of stone gnarled over by dried weeds and sun bleached rock. It was scratched and worn by weather and predators prowling through. Nearby, Geralt could see the aforementioned Griffin circling above, unaware of its visitors. A glance over towards the edge of the cliff and the Reaper spotted his target. The vibration of his medallion secured his suspicions as he approached the unfortunate soul to get taken by the beast. 

Jaskier peeked over his shoulder with a grimace, expecting large lacerations and severe wounds and open chest cavities. Instead he found a blue faced, pale untouched corpse in only slightly dirtied extravagant blue and green silks.

"What the-" he was cut off by Geralt's husky explanation as he crouched beside the body. 

"Asphyxiation." He grunted. "Choked on his own saliva while screaming for help. The Griffin didn't even get a chance at a live meal."

"How quaint." Jaskier grimaced still as Geralt severed the bond that manifested and collected the soul. It was silvery and small, a tiny pulse of light that quieted upon entering the vial.

"Not the courageous type of death he envisioned for himself." Geralt added as he turned towards Jaskier with a thoughtful expression resting on calm curious features. The angel cocked an inquisitive brow towards the Reaper but his verbal request was silenced by the Griffin's cry high above. 

"Gotta go before it notices us." Geralt hissed and ushered the bard back down the way they came. Albeit far less gracefully as the Reaper slid along the sheer rocky terrain with recklessness and concerning speed, cutting the travel time in half.


End file.
